


the picture that connects us

by military_bluebells



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Miscommunication, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Tattoo Artist Ray Person, Use Your Words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:07:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26010883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/military_bluebells/pseuds/military_bluebells
Summary: “Can I remove the covering tape?” Ray asked, already reaching for his bottle of tape remover.“Sure.” Brad said after a second. Ray dabbed the bottle’s nob along the edges of the square, waiting for the tape to start peeling. He carefully rubbed the skin around the area and picked at one of the corners until it curled up. He pulled the section away all at once and froze.The familiar lines, shapes and flowers of his soul-mark stared back at him.
Relationships: Brad Colbert/Ray Person, John Christeson/Evan Stafford
Comments: 9
Kudos: 65





	the picture that connects us

Ray hummed along to the radio as he traced his soul-mark. The black lines of the surfboard were stark against the main white of it, broken by two blue parallel stripes down the middle. The black motorcycle was half hidden behind it, only the handlebars, front wheel and part of the body visible. There was the familiar shape of a radio just in front of the two, with a less familiar laptop sitting on top of it. An electric guitar stood next to the surfboard, with a skateboard at its feet, the bright green underside peeking out. 

The guitar, radio and skateboard were definitely his interests, so the surfboard, laptop and motorcycle were probably his soulmate’s. It was stereotypical but he always assumed his soulmate was a guy with that combination. There were a couple of different flowers in the gaps – his grandma had pulled out her book of flowers and they’d spent the whole afternoon after the mark appeared looking up all his flowers. White heather – protection – between the surfboard and motorcycle, hydrangea – gratitude for being understood but also frigidity – between the radio and the motorcycle, and white chrysanthemums and violets – honesty and loyalty – behind the guitar and between the radio and the skateboard. 

“Hey Ray, your next appointment’s here.” Walt said, putting his head around the door. 

Ray looked up from his bicep and nodded, grabbing his black hoodie from the spare chair, “Colbert, right? New client.” 

“Yeah, that’s the one.” Walt replied, disappearing back to the front desk. Ray slipped his hoodie over his head and headed out. Colbert – well the man he assumed was Colbert – was stood by the desk, tall and blond and wearing fucking flip-flop. 

“Come on in.” Ray said, grinning. Colbert followed him through and sat almost tentatively on the table. Ray dropped down into his wheelie chair and grabbed his sketchpad and pencil.“So, what can I do for you homes, new tattoo, cover-up for a really bad, drunk decision?” 

“A soul-mark removal.” Colbert said plainly. Ray’s smile dropped a little before he forced it back up. He hated doing removals: his mom had had hers removed after her soulmate left her. He’d apparently cried, asking her where her ‘pretty picture’ went, and not about his dad leaving. It said a lot really. He couldn’t imagine not tracing his soul-mark every morning after he woke up and every night before he slept. But he supposed he kinda got it: sometimes they were painful reminders of dead, or dishonest soulmates, sometime people met someone else who they loved and didn’t want to end up finding their soulmate after their happy ending. And some just hated the idea. 

“Okay, you’ll have to fill in some paperwork, you know how the system is. It should take about a week or so to go through. If you want to take a picture before it’s removed, I’ll happily do that.” 

“No thanks.” Colbert said tightly. Ray nodded. 

“Would you like to have something else over the top? Some people get a little freaked if the mark's just completely removed.” Colbert looked like he was going to say no again, but he paused before nodding. Ray grinned, tattoos were so much more fun than removals, “So what you thinking? skull? satanic symbol? I’m afraid we don’t confederate symbols; you’ll have to find a seedier place for that.” 

Colbert cracked the first grin since Ray'd met him, “And you would know a place.” 

“Not me personally, I ain’t into all that white supremacy bullshit but I know people and some of them are of the less morally sound variety.” 

Colbert snorted, “Of course they are. Fine, can I have a look through your portfolio? Assuming it isn’t all crudely draw cocks’.” 

Ray cracked a grin, leaning back to grab his portfolio book, “It’s crudely _tattooed_ cocks’ homes, at least get the terminology right if you’re going to insult me.” Colbert took the book out of Ray’s hands and started at the front. Ray snorted, pushing his chair back to get his pack of colours from the side cupboard. Of course Colbert was that kinda person. “I’m Ray by the way, at your service for all your tattooing, or in your case, removing needs.” 

“Brad.” 

“Of course, you are.” 

Brad rose an eyebrow at him, and Ray shrugged, “You’ve got that stoned football player vibe.” 

“I’m a surfer actually.” Ray thumbed his bicep through his hoodie, resisting the urge to show Brad his mark, in case he’d seen someone down at the beach with it. Brad thumbed his way through the pages at a modest rate, so Ray flipped back to the tattoo he was supposed to be doing for Q-tip in a few days. More fucking Tupac lyrics, one half of a verse which probably meant Walt or Gabe were doing the other half on Christeson. It was only one step down from getting love hearts with each other’s names in it. Not that it mattered, since they already had matching soul-marks. 

“Who had this?” Brad asked, gesturing to a realistic looking blue shark. 

Ray laughed, “One of Walt’s friends, Webster, he’s got a real thing for sharks, so much that his soul-mark has a shark in it.” 

Brad looked amused so Ray flipped through the pages to another picture, this time of bundle of kittens, “This one was this kid that had a death-eye stare and was really creepy, and he has this tattooed on his hips because, and I quote, ‘I like cats’.” Brad snorted and flipped through some more pages to look at one of Walt’s tattoos, a yellow-orange sun, “That’s Walt, the idiot, got a drunk tattoo of a sunshine from that dodgy place down the street, looked like shit. So, like the good friend I am, I offered to fit it for bragging rights and beer.” 

Brad laughed, and Ray felt like he’d won a medal or something. 

“so, now that you’ve learnt that I can do my job like a motherfucker, any ideas for this new tattoo?” 

“Three interlocking rings.” Brad said. Ray snapped his finger and grinned, flicking to a clean page in his sketchpad. He sketched three rough circles, one on the top and two at the base, and flipped it to show Brad. 

“These are Borromean rings, but you could go horizontal style instead.” 

“Those are fine.” 

Ray nodded, pulling out his coloured pencils and gesturing to the rings, “Colours?” 

“Red, blue and black,” 

“Any opinion on which ones, or do I get to choose?” Ray said. Brad shrugged, waving his hand. Ray grinned and picked out his black pencil. He decided that the black ring would look best on top and coloured the left one red and the other blue. He flipped the pad around to show Brad again and he nodded, not looking displeased. 

“Okay, personal question but where is the soul-mark, I’d like an idea of what we’ll be dealing with and the space available.” 

Brad nodded and stripped off his t-shirt. Ray tried on to stare at the long, flat planes of his chest and abs as he turned to lay face down on the table. Ray looked over the small of his back just above his _very_ nice ass where there was a bright tattoo spanning from one side to the other, of some girls and a temple. Weird but not unattractive. He trailed his eyes up, looking for the soul-mark. He noticed a slight dark patch in between his shoulder blades. 

“Can I remove the covering tape?” Ray asked, already reaching for his bottle of tape remover. 

“Sure.” Brad said after a second. Ray dabbed the bottle’s nub along the edges of the square, waiting for the tape to start peeling. He carefully rubbed the skin around the area and picked at one of the corners until it curled up. He pulled the section away all at once and froze. 

The familiar lines, shapes and flowers of his soul-mark stared back at him. He swallowed dryly and stepped back. 

“How much do you think it will cost?” Brad asked as Ray resisted the urge to touch or worse, say anything. 

“About $25 for the removal, and I’ll have to see about the new tattoo, colours and size and whatever. We’ve at least got quite a bit of space.” Ray managed to say levelly. He quickly got out of his chair to find some covering tape. His hands were shaking so much he dropped the tape as he took it out of the cupboard, but he caught it before Brad could notice. He cut a piece in a haze, smoothing it down with shaky fingers. Brad got up and Ray quickly picked up his book and turned to fiddle with the shelf they lived on, avoiding Brad’s eyes. 

“Walt’ll print the forms you need to fill out, and I’ll book you in sometime next week or the week after.” Ray said, breathing through his mouth. 

“Okay… I’ll see you then.” 

“Yep, see you!” Ray said, with forced enthusiasm. Brad gave him a weird look but left the room anyway. Ray breathed out in a rush and fell into his chair. 

What the fuck was he going to do? 

* * *

  


“Okay, run that by me again.” Walt said, perching on their kitchen counter. 

Ray sighed, running a hand through his hair, “A guy, Brad Colbert, came in for a soul-mark removal, which cool but it turns out his soul-mark matches mine.” 

“So, Brad’s your soulmate.” Walt finished. “Why didn’t you tell him?” 

“Because he wants to get it removed! And that means he obviously doesn’t want a soulmate and I’m not going to guilt the guy into something he doesn’t want. It’s his decision.” 

“But he needs all the facts to make a proper decision, like how he’s found his soulmate.” 

Ray sighed, flopping onto his back in the floor in front of Walt, “It’s against policy Walt, artist-client confidentiality, I’m forbidden from commenting on his soul-mark, and or soulmate.” 

Walt rolled his eyes, “and you _know_ that that’s void when it comes to removals, _especially_ when the artist _is_ the soulmate.” 

Ray threw his hands up, “Fine! I’m a coward. I don’t want to tell him in case he doesn’t change his mind and he rejects me as well. If I don’t know, I can pretend he wouldn’t have rejected me or removed his soul-mark and save myself a lifetime of pain and misery.” 

Walt slipped off the counter and dropped to the floor by Ray’s head, “Or you can take a chance, like I _know_ you can, and have a lifetime of happiness with your soulmate.” 

“Hate to break it to you Walt, but just because people are soulmates, doesn’t mean they’ll live happily ever after.” 

Walt twisted around to look at him. Ray glanced away from his sympathetic gaze. If he was honest, all he wanted to do was rewind this day and never meet Br- Colbert. That way he wouldn’t have this responsibility on his shoulders to tell a guy that clearly didn’t care for soulmates – or him – that he was, in fact, his soulmate. 

“I know you’re scared Ray,” Walt said softly, “but that’s never stopped you before, I mean I’ve seen you jump out of a building into swimming pool just because Gabe dared you to. When I met Fliss, you know what I thought, I thought ‘What would Ray do?’ and I went for it. It turned out for me, why can’t it for you?” 

“Because Fliss was interested, Brad is the opposite. Very much the fucking opposite.” 

“You don’t know why he’s getting it removed, maybe he’s just lost hope.” 

Ray rolled onto his side, “He didn’t look like the kind of guy that gives up Walt.” 

Walt shrugged, “So, you don’t look like someone who can quote Machia- whatever his name is.” 

“Machiavelli.” 

Walt grinned, “yeah that one, come one, what was that quote about danger?” 

Ray gave Walt a look but recited, “ _Never was anything great achieved without danger._ ” 

Walt grinned wider, “See!” Ray flopped onto his back and sighed heavily. Walt knocked his shoulder with a fist and Ray sighed again, louder. “You know I’m right.” 

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it homes. Fuck, you’re not going to leave me the fuck alone until I tell him, are you?” 

“’Fraid not.” 

* * *

  


Let it never be said that Ray was a pussy, even if he thought he was a couple of times. He put his big boy pants on and booked Brad in for two weeks’ time, enough time that the paperwork would've gone through even if the system dragged its feet. Ray never understood why the government gave a shit about removals - actually that was a lie, he’d had to argue for them in debate club - but still America was supposed to be land of the fucking free and yet they restricted what people could do with their own bodies. 

He was surprised then, when Brad walked through the doors of Get Inked with another guy, shorter but broad with brown hair, three days before his appointment. 

“If my wife catches me here…” the guy said. 

Ray smirked, “I think she’ll notice a new tattoo.” 

“Actually I need one fixed, it looks like shit.” 

Ray nodded sagely, “Is it from that place down the street, cause honestly I should send them some chocolates or porn mags for all the extra business.” Brad gave the guy a look and he sighed, “Yeah, I know, it was a bad call, but he gave me a discount.” 

“Which is now worth nothing since you have to get it fixed.” Brad said, smirking. Ray tried to ignore the amused crinkle of his eyes and the upturn of his lips. He leaned over the counter; suddenly glad he hadn’t taken his hoodie off. 

“Well, you’re in luck, cause I can give you a quote and shit right now.” 

They followed Ray to his room – he took a second to tell Q-tip to man the desk since he was just lounging around on FaceTime with Christeson, which he could do at the desk – and he whipped out his sketch book, flopping on to his wheelie chair. “Let’s see this abomination then.” 

The guy sighed and pulled his polo shirt off. The two birds on his upper pecs were good quality, if Ray had to guess he would say it was Shifty’s work. The design – if it could be called that – just under his pecs was worse. It was blown out, the colour leaking enough that Ray couldn’t tell what it was supposed to be. 

“At least it’s relatively small and it looks like blue-black ink, so it won’t be hard to cover up.” The guy relaxed, sitting on Ray’s chair more comfortably. Ray picked up his pencil and sketched the existing tattoo, “Now, I can touch it up, and fill any run with that blue-black colour, or we can do a new design over the top, fill in the bits and shit. It would be bigger though.” 

“What do you suggest?” 

Ray hummed, leaning forward to press a finger against the skin, “It looks like the equipment went in too far, that’s why it’s blown out and merged. Your skin seems pretty healthy and I guess not too delicate and sensitive. Based on that, I could tattoo over it well, so it might be worth getting that as a touch up might not last as long or look as good.” The guy nodded and Ray asked. “Got any ideas?” 

The guy took a second to think, “A fleur-de-lis.” 

“Black?” Ray asked as he sketched the three leaves. It hadn’t been long since he’d done one, the last time had been on the right pec of an extremely hot US Marshal, so the design was easy to remember. 

“Yeah.” Ray hummed and picked up a black marker. They’d have to make it solid black to cover the old tattoo and big enough to cover it. “I’m thinking about this big.” Ray motioned to the guy’s chest, pointing his fingers where the tattoo would start and finish. “That good for you?” 

The guy nodded, looking relieved, “Yeah, that’s good. Thank you.” 

Ray shrugged, “No problem. So, I’m free at the moment if you want to do it now, or you can book from some other time.” 

“Some other time.” 

Ray nodded, trying his best not to look at Brad, “Well, if you go and talk to Q-tip at the front desk, he’ll book you in.” 

“Cool, thanks again.” The guy said, getting off the table and walking out. Brad went to follow him, and Ray released a breath before catching Brad’s arm. Brad turned to look at him and rose an eyebrow. Ray could feel himself beginning to sweat but he pushed his fear aside. 

“There’s something I have to discuss with you about your appointment on Friday.” 

Brad’s eyebrow somehow went higher, but he didn’t seem angry yet, “Oh. What?” 

Ray let out a deep breath, “As you probably know there’s legislation about artist-client confidentiality preventing us commenting about soul-mark. But, there’s an exception clause in place for certain circumstances.” Brad’s eyebrows furrowed and he was getting less and less patience. Ray swallowed, “One circumstance for removals is that if the artist is the soulmate, they must make the client aware.” 

Silence smothered them as Ray stared up at Brad, waiting for the penny to drop. He didn’t have to wait long, because B- Colbert’s face contorted into a mixed of anger and some other emotions that Ray didn’t care to read into. Ray looked away and fiddled with the sleeve of his right arm. His soul-mark _burned_. 

“What?” Colbert’s voice was harsh after the silence. Ray grimaced before pulling his hoodie over his head and offering Colbert his arm, making the soul-mark on his bicep clearly visible. Colbert’s face went through a series of emotions, too quickly for Ray to read. He looked to the wall behind Colbert’s shoulder. 

“I’m only making you aware so that you can make an informed decision.” Ray recited, “The removal will still take place, though through the legislation, you’ll have to have it done by Walt or Q-tip, since it’s a conflict of interest.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me at the last appointment?” Colbert’s question was just short of cutting. 

“Because I’m a pussy.” Ray said honestly, “But since I’m legally obliged to tell you, I had to suck it up.” 

Colbert’s face smoothed out – into a mask not because he was relaxed – and he nodded curtly, striding out of the room. Ray released a breath and slumped into his chair, spinning it glumly. 

* * *

  


“Alcohol. Right now.” Ray said as he threw his bag onto the couch and made for the kitchen cabinet that held all of the alcohol left over from Walt’s birthday. He needed to get drunk right now before he could start thinking about his feelings and shit. He heard Walt sigh and the squeak of the armchair seat. 

“How did it go?” 

Ray gave Walt a look over his shoulder, “Seriously? I’m asking for alcohol on a Wednesday; how do you think it went?” 

“Badly?” Walt said with a sympathetic grimace. 

Ray huffed, “Yeah, no shit.” He grabbed the first bottle he could reach, which happened to be Blanco tequila. Ray tilted to the side – that shit was strong as fuck and tasted how he imagined bleach tasted but this was an emergency. He pulled it out and set it on the counter top a little too heavily. Walt raised an eyebrow as Ray grabbed a two shot glasses and started pouring them. 

“Is that a good idea?” 

Ray levelled him with the most unimpressed look he could muster, “Homes, at this point I’d do chlorine shots if I thought it would get me drunk fast enough.” Walt’s eyebrow went higher, and Ray slammed a full shot glass down in front of him. “Are you joining me or what?” He didn’t give Walt time to answer, knocking his shot back and slamming the glass on the counter, flicking the bottle open to pour another. 

Ray’d done three shots by the time Walt had done his first – he coughed and spluttered, and Ray took great joy in calling him a pussy. Once he was buzzed, Ray mixed them some strong cocktails and flopped onto the couch, waiting for Walt to cue up FRIENDS on Netflix. At some point, Walt fished out the tub of ice cream from the freezer and while ice cream wasn’t his style – he was more of a get-blackout-drunk guy than an eat-ice-cream-and-cry guy like Walt – Ray took his spoon and mixed spoonfuls of chocolate ice cream with sips of his third Person Special, made just like his mom did when she’d gone through a breakup. 

“How’s it actually?” Walt asked, flopping his head to the side. 

Ray shrugged, stirring his ice cream, “He look pissed but then he kinda blanked me.” Walt made a mournful sound and Ray snorted; he’d forgot how funny drunk Walt was. 

“’ell if he’d said shit, I woulda punch ‘im.” Walt mumbled. 

Ray patted his arms, “Thanks homes.” Walt passed out less a minute later and Ray chuckled to himself. Walt could handle almost seven beers but two shots and two Person Specials and he was out like a light. Ray grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch and threw it over him. He mixed the last of his ice cream with his Special and sighed. It could’ve gone a lot worse, but a small part of him had hoped Colbert’s eyes would light up. He rubbed his face and downed the last of his drink before kicking his legs over Walt’s lap and flopping back onto the couch. 

It wasn’t that big of a deal, Ray tried to remind himself: it wasn’t like the forties or fifties where it was a scandal to not settle down with your soulmate and removing a soul-mark was one of the biggest taboos around. This was the 21st century, he was just as likely to settle down with someone who didn’t share his soul-mark as he was to someone with his soul-mark. Fuck it, his mom was perfectly happy on her lonesome, he could just be like her. It didn’t make it hurt any less – and it did hurt even if he barely knew Colbert – but at least it calmed him down enough that he’d be able to sleep. 

Hell, that was probably the last time he’d ever see Colbert anyway. 

* * *

  


Walt groaned and lay his head on the front desk. Ray snorted and nudged him with his Chucks until Walt slapped him away. 

“What did you do to him?” Christeson asked as he came through the front door, holding a tray of four coffees in his hand. They had a fixed routine when it came to these things, one person got the coffees at the beginning of the day, someone else was in charge of the lunch order, another took stock of the snack cupboard to make sure they never ran out again and another manned the front desk, leaving the last person to get a half day. They rotated every week, and depending on the number of clients, they increased or decreased half days. Ray’d never thought he’d be able to run a small business but with Walt, Q-tip, Christeson and Gabe, it was easy. 

“We got drunk.” 

Christeson nodded understandingly and carefully placed Walt’s coffee by his head. Q-tip emerged from the hallway to the tattoo rooms and immediately latched onto Christeson. “Hey, Johnny you got my-” Chirsteson held up a coffee and Q-tip grinned, kissing on the ear, “Thanks babe.” 

“Aww.” Ray cooed, poking Walt with his foot. “Walt, Walt you’re missing the tooth-rotting young love.” 

Walt backhanded Ray’s ankle and turn his head to glare at him, “How are you…” Walt waved his hand around. 

“Homes, you know I don’t do hangovers, my metabolism’s too good for that.” Walt grumbled and shoved his sunglasses back on before grabbing his coffee. Ray snorted and kick his leg up onto the desk, leaning against the front panel to take his mocha of Christeson. Sue him, he liked sweet shit in the morning. “What's on today? 

Walt sighed, “Quiet morning, it’s just Christeson and the girl getting her ears pierced. Gabe’s coming at lunch then we’ve got a busy afternoon.” 

Ray grinned, “That gives you enough time to get over your hangover.” Walt glared at him before wincing and putting his head back on the table. “Come on, Christeson I’ll do your tatt since this one,” Ray jumped off the table and ruffled Walt’s hair, “is so hungover.” 

Christeson nodded and Q-tip pushed a fist into his arm with a grin. Ray rolled his eyes: the two of them had one of the most interesting dynamics he'd ever seen, one-minute Q-tip was calling Christeson ‘dude’ and bro fisting him and the next he was calling Christeson ‘Johnny’ with a fond look and kissing him chastely. Ray shook his head and went to his station to prep his gun. Who was he to judge when he probably wasn’t going to be that close with anyone. 

Walt had already put the design on the transfer paper, the words _still feel you, still there for you_ in what looked like Q-tip’s loose handwriting to match Q-tips _no matter what, you will always be in my heart_ in Christeson’s neater handwriting. It was sickly sweet and if Ray’d hadn’t been feeling like he did, he would’ve made fun of them, but instead he found himself smiling as he pasted the stencil around Christeson’s side. He let Christeson pick the music since it was a better distraction for him than talking. The opening bars of ‘Hot in Here’ started and Ray snorted but sang along as he peeled the transfer paper off and fired up his gun. The time passed quickly, with every tattoo Christeson was getting better at not fidgeting, and it was fun to do something so simple to good music. 

Gabe arrived soon after and then Q-tip was getting lunch. They ate around the front desk as they always did – they’d learned their lesson after the last time Walt got pastry flakes on his table – and discussed which was harder to look after a nipple piercing or a Prince Albert. Ray noticed Walt was looking a little green and sighed as he jerked and threw his head into the bin by the desk, retching. 

“There he blows.” 

“That’s a record, right? Twelve hours?” Gabe reached over and patted Walt on the back as he coughed, and Ray fetched a bottle of water. 

“No tattooing or piercing for you, you’re on desk duty.” Ray said, offering Walt the bottle. It was going to complicate things, they were still training Christeson and they’d planned to stick him on the desk. Ray rubbed the back of his head and opened their notebook, reading through the people on the books. 

“Right so, we’re reshuffling people. Christeson, you’re doing Lena’s shoulder blade. Q-tip, you’re completing that sleeve from last week, I’m re-piercing Liebgott’s lip and Gabe, you’re doing that Mets girl who’s getting her nipples done. Whoever’s free will do Kocher’s cover-up.” 

Ray found a clean bucket out of the store cupboard, some graham crackers and another bottle of water and left them on the front desk for Walt. He helped Christeson set up because Q-tip’s client arrived earlier than expected. The Mets girl came soon after and then Liebgott. Ray was glad he was piercing his mouth because it stopped him from ranting about the last annoying thing Webster did like he didn’t have a kink for Webster disagreeing him. It went quicker than he expected, not that he was complaining because it gave him time to check up on Walt, who was still a little green but less woozy. 

He realised though, that he’d have to do Kocher’s cover-up. “Do think Colbert would’ve told him?” 

Walt sighed, “I don’t know, but I doubt he’ll bring it up, even if he did.” 

Walt was _not_ right. Kocher clocked him as soon as he stepped through the door, looking him up and down with new eyes. Ray sighed and waved him through into his room. He stalled, fiddling with the transfer paper and checking and re-checking his gun. He relented when he realised it probably made him look like a pussy. Kocher lay back and Ray swobbed his chest briefly, before laying the transfer paper down. The middle leaf was going to be big enough to shallow the whole of the blown-out tattoo, the other two curling under his pecs. Kocher didn’t say anything until Ray’d almost completed the outline of the first leaf. 

“So, you’re Brad’s soulmate.” 

“Yep.” Ray said half-heartedly. He could feel Kocher’s eyes boring into the side of his head. 

“He’s a good guy, little frosty at first but he warms up once you get to know him.” Ray wanted to raise his eyebrows because why did he need to know that, but he repressed it. Kocher rolled his shoulders when Ray pulled the needle out to flick the ink in the cartridge and an awkward silence fell over them. It stayed until Ray finished the whole outline and got up to re-fill the ink cartridge.“Why aren’t you interested in him?” 

Ray fumbled and the ink dropped out of his hand. He caught it before it could hit the ground and then stared at Kocher. “What?” 

“Why aren’t you interested in him, are you with someone else?” 

Ray blinked, “What? Brad’s the one not interested; I’m just staying out his way homes.” 

Kocher’s eyebrows furrowed, “Did he say that?” 

Ray froze, “Well, no… but he’s getting a removal.” 

Kocher sat up, and turned to look at him, “Because he thought his soulmate won’t want him as he is. He had a really bad break-up, the girl said he was heartless among some other nasty shit. Even when it turned out she’d ditched him for her soulmate, he couldn’t push the stuff away.” 

Ray knew his mouth had parted. That hadn’t even been on his list of reasons. “But I do want him.” Ray blurted, “or at least get to know him.” 

It was Kocher turn to raise his eyebrows, “But you didn’t tell him straight away.” 

“Because I thought he didn’t want me!” Ray said defensively. 

Kocher shook with his head with an amused smirk. “Definitely soulmates.” He said, settling back down on the table. Ray huffed and dropped his shoulders. The rest of the appointment went well, Kocher gave him advice on what to do next to sort out their clusterfuck. He told him that Brad surfed at six every morning towards the bottom of the closest beach – go figure, with the surfboard in their soul-mark – and Ray decided that would be the best place to ambush him, instead of the tattoo parlour. One because then his friends wouldn’t interfere or witness Ray admit that he’d fucked up – they’d never let it go – and two, Brad would be more relaxed there and under less pressure. Ray was going to straighten this shit out and maybe, if he was lucky, he'd end up with his soulmate. 

* * *

  


Ray’s alarm clock went off way too early, but he was already up. He hadn’t slept more than three hours, nerves keeping him awake until he gave up and started organising their bills for the month. When the alarm went off in his bedroom, Ray switched it off and got dressed. He grabbed the black dive shirt and blue and white board shorts he usually wore when he went surfing. He'd started surfing when he got here, hoping that he might bump into his soulmate, but he’d found that he’d enjoyed it. He grabbed his board from the hallway closet and picked up the bag he’d packed during his bout of insomnia. 

The beach was ten-minute walk from their apartment, but he spent another ten minutes getting to the spot that Brad surfed at. The sun was up, and the sky was spotted with clouds, the heat at just the right level for Ray to feel comfortable. He might not like getting up at five thirty but fuck if it wasn't a nice change to when he usually rocked up, around seven when the sky was beginning to turn purple-red-orange. 

He spotted Brad pretty easily: there weren’t that many surfers out and Brad was taller than average. Ray dropped down onto the sand by an olive drab duffel, laying his board down next to him, and watched Brad cut through a wave expertly. He got sucked in – Brad was obviously really good, twisting and turning his board with ease – and it might've helped that he was shirtless. Brad did around six runs before he started to wade out of the sea. Ray buried his foot into the sand and waited as Brad ambled closer and closer to him. He guessed right then that the olive drab duffel was Brad’s. He knew the exact moment that Brad saw him because he stopped dead and stared at him. 

“Hey, homes.” Ray said lamely, wiggling his foot out of the sand. 

“What do you want?” Brad’s words were harsh, but this time Ray breathed and reminded himself that Brad was being defensive not trying to hurt him. 

“I tattooed your friend Kocher yesterday, and it seems we want the same thing, but think the other doesn’t want that.” Brad’s face didn’t change, and Ray sighed, “Okay, I’m just gonna tell you what I want, and you can shoot me down if you want to. I don’t expect us to like each other instantly or any of that first sight shit, but I do want to get to know you, see if we could be together or if we’re better off as platonic soulmates or on opposite side of the country.” 

Brad’s eyebrows furrowed and his face rotated through a bunch of emotions. Ray held his sincere and open look, trying to tell Brad that he was serious. 

“I’m not going to the east coast.” Brad said finally, his lip quirking just a little. 

“The surfing’s shit there.” Ray agreed. Brad’s eyes flicked to the surfboard and he rose an eyebrow. Ray shrugged a little self-consciously and pushed the sleeve of his t-shirt up to thumb the surfboard on the soulmate, “I thought I might bump into my – well into you – if I learnt. I just ended up enjoying as well.” 

“Are you any good?” 

Ray waved his hand, “Okay, I can stand and shit, but I can’t do the fancy stuff you do.” 

It was like the blank mask Brad had been using melted away: his eyes were bright, and he nodded with a soft smile, “You can learn.” 

“You offering to teach me?” Ray asked cheekily. 

“If you listen to me and don't sprout too much red-state uneducated filth.” 

Oh, that was how it was gonna be. Ray smirked, “Only if you don’t try to infect me with whatever blue-state hippie shit your parents taught you.” 

Brad snorted and offered out his hand. Ray grasped it, letting Brad pulled him to his feet. He grabbed his board and followed Brad towards the water. He let himself admire their soul-mark between Brad’s shoulder blades; the black lines of the surfboard, the black motorcycle was half hidden behind it, the familiar shape of a radio just in front of the two, with a less familiar laptop sitting on top of it. The electric guitar stood next to the surfboard, the skateboard at its feet. He thought he could guess who the flowers belonged to now. The white heathers – protection – and the hydrangeas – gratitude for being understood but also frigidity – were obviously Brad’s, which made the white chrysanthemums and violets – honesty and loyalty – his. 

Brad pushed his surfboard into the water and the muscles of his back pulled tort. Ray grinned and slipped onto his, fighting to be the first to break through the surf zone. 

* * *

  


Ray didn’t trace his soul-mark morning and night like he used to: it was more fun to trace Brad’s.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt Credit: https://senotashwolf.tumblr.com/post/131246415429/soulmate-au-story-ideas?is_related_post=1
> 
> You remove your tattoo because you hate the idea of someone dictating who you can be with for the rest of your life and the person who’s removing it happens to be your soulmate and they’re torn between letting you know and just not bringing it up because you kind of went there because you didn’t want a soulmate and vice versa.
> 
> Also, if anyone is interested, here's James Ransone surfing: https://ransonepj.tumblr.com/post/616512188980576256/james-ransone-surf-simply-stories-33


End file.
